Little Mr Bouncer and His Friend Verdant Green/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII.
LITTLE MR. BOUNCER BIDS FAREWELL TO MR. VERDANT GREEN FOR A BRIEF SEASON.
HE good things on Mr. Fosbrooke's breakfast table were done justice to by little Mr. Bouncer, notwithstanding the fact that he had already breakfasted at the Mitre, with Mr. Bulpit and Mr. Smirke. In the London season, "men may come and men may go," on the same evening, to two or three Balls, Receptions, At Homes, or whatever the entertainment may be called; and our hero may be excused if, on the last morning of Term, and under peculiar circumstances, he not only went from breakfast-party Number One to breakfast-party Number Two, but contrived to enjoy them both. And, in the matter of Brazenface College versus the Mitre Hotel, it would have puzzled a Lucullus to decide to which breakfast to award the palm. It must have been from a full knowledge of the powers of the College cook that Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke, with an artful assumption of the capabilities of the Brazenface kitchen and buttery, said, "There 's not much choice for you men; but I hope you 'll find something to your liking. And if there 's anything not here that you specially desire, Coquus will send it up in a twinkling." It was like to that fabulous host whose servant having, according to a prepared plan, fallen down as he entered the room with the turbot, cried out, "Bring another turbot!" and the other turbot, exquisitely cooked, was immediately brought. It was evident that a similar faith was reposed in Coquus, and that it was believed the Brazenface chef could produce any dish at a few moments' notice, even if the order were given for cassowary chops or roast ostrich.
"Coquus" was the name by which the head cook at Brazenface was familiarly known. He was a highly important personage, with an official salary larger than that of a resident tutor; moreover, he was believed to make, at the very least an extra two hundred a year by dripping and perquisites—things that were equal mysteries with the payments to the University chest. The eldest son of Mr. Coquus had distinguished himself at a grammar-school, and had been sent to a leading college in the rival University, where his birth and parentage were cleverly ignored, or only mentioned in a remote way that would not lead to detection. When pressed, Coquus, junior, asserted (with truth) that his father held a post in connection with the University of Oxford; further particulars were skilfully evaded. Coquus, senior, was not only a man who might be considered great, from his official position, but also from his personal dimensions. The warmth of his various ovens, fires, and stoves appeared to have developed every particle of fatty substance in his body, and to have bestowed upon him a rotundity of form that made
his figure most imposing to the spectator. The head cook of Brazenface was not often visible to the outer world in his professional costume; but occasional glimpses of him might be seen, as his portly figure filled up the doorway leading to the kitchens, the while he superintended the arrival of a whole cartload of meat, or received a smaller supply of sweetbreads from the basket of the butcher's boy. Dignity and diffidence were represented on such an occasion, when the great Mr. Coquus gave an audience to the small Cook's excursionist.
Mr. Fosbrooke's guests must have been hard to please if they could not find something to their liking in the various dishes which, under the superintendence of Mr. Coquus, were set before them; for there were beefsteaks, devilled kidneys, poached eggs and ham, curried chicken, veal cutlets, savoury omelettes with bacon, pigeon pie (or "dove-tart," to use the Oxford vernacular), and "spread eagle." Concerning this last-named dish, little Mr. Bouncer said to Verdant Green, "The Mum heard me talk about it, and made me promise to bring her a recipe for it; so I have got Coquus to write it down for me; and, when you come to us in the Long, and pay us your promised visit at my little shop in Herefordshire, I daresay the Mum will give you some for breakfast."
It may as well here be noted that the recipe for "An Oxford Spread-eagle," given by Mr. Coquus to little Mr. Bouncer, and by him handed to his mother, was as follows:—"Take a fine, tender fowl; split it down its back, and carefully press it flat. Grill it on a gridiron over a glede fire, from time to time rubbing it with butter, and sprinkling it with pepper. In about three-quarters of an hour it will be well cooked. Serve it up to table with mushroom sauce." When little Mr. Bouncer handed this recipe to his mother, he did not tell her that he had tipped the great Mr. Coquus with a sovereign. Perhaps such tips were a portion of the "perquisites" of the great cook of Brazenface.
"Pewter Potter promised to do some breakfast with us," said Mr. Fosbrooke.
"Pewter Potter? who is he?" asked Verdant Green.
"Oh! he is a New man," was the reply.
"A new man? Oh, I see! You mean a Freshman?" said Verdant Green.
"No; I mean that he is a New College man," replied Mr. Fosbrooke; and there was a laugh at Verdant Green's expense.
"Never mind, Giglamps," said little Mr. Bouncer; "this is the last day that you can properly be called a Freshman. When you come up next October, after the Long, you will no longer be a Freshman in name, and it will be your own fault if you are then a freshman by nature. Won't it, old fellow?"
"Either my fault or my misfortune," observed Verdant.
"You 're late! you must make up for lost time," said Mr. Fosbrooke to Mr. Pewter Potter, who just then entered the room.
"I had to see to the boats," explained that gentleman, as he seated himself at the table, and began vigorously to make up for the lost time. Mr. Pewter Potter took a great interest in his College crew, and had been recently coached in his trial eights.
"Your boat has done famously," said Mr. Fosbrooke.
"Yes," replied Mr. Pewter Potter; "though I hope we shall do still better next Term. But we had rather hard lines; for we had to pull in the wash of the Pembroke boat. Fortunately for us, Pembroke rowed in awfully bad form, and, at the last, had not a spurt left in them. We won by the skin of our teeth, and that was all. I suppose you are going down, as usual, on the box of the Birmingham coach?"
Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke acknowledged that such was his intention, and that it was, even then, time for him to start. "So, I must leave you men to help your selves. You and I must be off, Green, or we shall be too late for the coach."
Then, good-byes were said, and little Mr. Bouncer—who was presently followed by Mr. Smalls, Mr. Pewter Potter, and one or two others of the party—accompanied them to the Mitre, from whence the famous four-horse coach started to Birmingham. There also were other Oxford men, who preferred that old mode of conveyance to the newer railway; perhaps, because it carried them nearer to their various destinations. The breakfast-party given by Mr. Smirke and Mr. Bulpit was not yet over, for some of the guests appeared at the open windows on the first floor, from whence, as they smoked, they were looking on at the lading of the coach down below.
Little Mr. Bouncer and Verdant Green went into the coffee-room; and, as Verdant leant against one of the pillars near to the bow-window, and selected from his cigar-case a particularly mild Havannah, his friend said to him, "I 'm like a parent to you, Giglamps!—coming here and seeing you safe off the premises, and keeping a sharp look-out, lest you should elope with old Mother Tester! Well, you 've said good-bye to Brazenface for a time; and now you 've got to say good-bye for a time to yours, truly. Don't forget your promise to come and see me in the Long."
"I shall be sure not to forget that," said Verdant.
"Now, gentlemen, the coach is ready," said the guard, looking into the room.
"Are you going to tool the tits?" asked little Mr. Bouncer.
"No; I shall leave that and the box seat to Fosbrooke," replied Verdant.
"Well, good bye, Giglamps. Give my love to Sairey and the little uns," said Mr. Bouncer, with a kind remembrance of imaginary individuals.
Verdant Green clambered up to his seat behind the coachman; nodded another farewell to little Mr. Bouncer, who waved his cap as a parting salute; the horses' heads were let go; and the coach clattered up the High.